Just Like Always
by Sierra Phoenix
Summary: She watches the door, waiting. Any minute now he'll come bursting in, sweep them up in his arms. He'll swing them around, they'll laugh and smile, and everything will be okay.


**Title:** Just Like Always  
**Author:** Sierra Phoenix  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jo, Ellen, John (no pairings)  
**Disclaimer:** It's possible that there are alternate universes out there where I own _Supernatural_; this universe, however, is not one of them. I own nothing.  
**Summary:** She watches the door, waiting; any minute now he'll come bursting in, sweep them up in his arms. He'll swing them around, they'll laugh and smile, and everything will be okay.

* * *

Jo watches the door to the Roadhouse, waiting with a child's impatience for her father to burst in, sweep her into his arms, tug on one her pigtails, and ask, "What have I missed, little Angel?"

She'll giggle as he spins them around in a circle, ducking her head into his chest as she answers, "Nothing, Daddy."

Then he'll gently place her back on her feet, move over to her mother, grab the woman up into his arms and spin her around in much the same way he had with his daughter.

Jo's mother will laugh, a low, full-bodied, vibrant sound that won't have been heard for days till then, and then she'll swat him playfully on the arm, "_Billy_," falling from her lips in mock-scolding.

They'll smile; they'll laugh. Just like always. Time and time again, it's like clockwork, the endless rhythm of their family playing like a favorite, well-worn record. He leaves, they wait, he returns, and then they spin and laugh and smile, together.

They're waiting now.

Jo, with that feeling of _any minute now_, splits her attention between her crayons and coloring book and the door. Her mom dries glass beer mugs with a single-minded determination, as is if she hasn't a thought in the world for anything other than the mug in one hand and the dishtowel in the other, like she's not brimming with just as much anticipation as the little blond-haired girl, currently drawing a stick-family in shades of purple and blue.

At the sound of footsteps and the creak of the door, Jo jumps up like a shot, flying across the room, gleeful greetings ready on her tongue.

The man that walks through the door, head bowed low and steps weighted with grief, isn't her father. Jo stops halfway to the door, disappointment warring with confusion.

The man looks up finally, gaze drawn past Jo, behind her to where her mother stands. _He looks _really _tired and sad_, is all Jo can think.

"I'm sorry," the man says solemnly.

Jo barely has time to wonder what the man is sorry for when glass shatters loudly on the floor behind her, causing the little girl to jump fearfully.

Her mom has dropped the mug she was drying, its remains sparkling on the floor at her feet. The woman brings a trembling hand to her mouth, eyes shining with tears that gather, overflow, then slide in twin tracks down her cheeks.

"Get out," the words are choked out.

The man makes a move toward her, hand outstretched. "Ellen, I—"

"Get out!" the words are yelled this time, more anger in them than Jo's ever heard in her mom's voice, not even when her mom uses her full name, _Joanna Beth_, like she does when she's _really_ upset. Jo's tiny, wide eyes flit back and forth between the two adults; confusion, fear, she doesn't really understand what's happening.

The man bows his head again, turns and leaves, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

Jo's mom slides gracelessly to the floor, amidst broken glass; a gut-wrenching sob escapes her lips, and Jo watches with incomprehension. Is her mom sad because of the broken mug? Or because of the man?

The little girl steps over to her mom, tiny feet avoiding the glittering shards of glass on the floor, and she squats next to her mom, placing a small hand on her mother's shoulder. Like any other time when Jo has scraped her knees or elbows, the scene plays out the same; only this time the roles are reversed. "It's okay, Mom," she says, her young voice filled innocent surety.

The shoulder under her little hand shakes with the torrent of silent sobs. Jo's angelic face twists in panic, her own tears barely held at bay now in the face of her helplessness. She doesn't know what else to do for her mom.

Desperate child's eyes seek out the door again. Her dad will know what to do, Jo's sure.

She watches the door, waiting; any minute now he'll come bursting in, sweep them up in his arms. He'll swing them around, they'll laugh and smile, and everything will be okay. Just like always.


End file.
